


'Til the siren comes calling.

by vexmybones



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5 Times, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Break Sideways, Break Up, Break down, Cheating, Complete, Crack Treated Seriously, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Friends With Benefits, Heartbreak, Infidelity, Not Beta Read, Post-War, Secrets, The Author Regrets Everything, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:31:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9089611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vexmybones/pseuds/vexmybones
Summary: Five times Hermione and Harry break the rules, and each other.





	1. Round one and two.

**Author's Note:**

> Be gentle, this is my first crack at the magical world.

 

i.

 

It doesn’t happen often, although the definition of ‘often’ could be quite different between two people.

The first time happens three days before Harry’s set to say ‘I do.’ For once, Number 12 is quiet. The air is still, not a note of chatter to be heard. There aren’t any footfalls tripping down the stairs followed by thinly veiled threats. The only two occupants are beyond relieved. Hermione, curled into the corner of a sofa in the cozily warm library, a well loved book in one hand; Harry, stretched across the same sofa with an arm dangling and fingers clasped loosely around a slender ankle, face buried against her lap and glasses askew. It reminds him of the Gryffindor common room and he’s warm down to his bones. This intimacy that they share is nothing new, they’ve always been affectionate.

Her fingers combing through his unruly hair make him sigh.

There isn’t a need for words between them. This silence isn’t looking to be filled with mundane things. He’s tired, _exhausted_ , and idly wonders which Weasley would be the first to find him and hex him into oblivion if he just disappeared. He’d stupidly assumed that by handing over complete control of wedding planning to the females of the Weasley clan, that’d he’d be excused from all duties. As he mentioned, _stupidly assumed._ The last six months had been torture. Fittings, tastings, too many decisions about trivial details he’d never pay attention to, it all ran together in a blur. That is, until he’d had enough and begged, quite literally, for just one night to do absolutely nothing. To not be bothered.

The pad of his thumb strokes lazily over the delicate bones of her ankle.

Hermione doesn’t count, though. She’d come home to find him curled over a bottle of Sirius’ favored firewhiskey and wearing a haunted expression. After a whispered ‘ _Oh, Harry,’_ she’d changed into her pajamas and herded him into the library. Pouring herself a glass, she hadn’t asked him questions or needled him for his excuses. That was one of the many things he secretly loved about Hermione; she knew him well enough to know when there was nothing left in his reserves. And he would bet his favorite broom that she could drink Sirius Black under the table. If he were alive.

He flexes the arm that’s nestled between her back and the couch, she smiles at her book. Harry turns his head toward her stomach and uses his position to jar her from her comfortable place, dragging her down. Hermione’s fingers curl in his strands and tug in warning. He pouts with a quiet huff and goes limp, dead weight atop her lap. Harry swears he can hear her eyes roll. She carefully closes her book and finally turns her attention to him as it floats safely to the coffee table. Her fingers continue their path through his hair, easing the sting of her reprimand and their eyes meet.

“Hello,” she says quietly, a soft smile gracing her mouth.

“Hi,” he replies just as quietly.

“Time for bed, I think?” at his nod, Hermione pats his head. “Up you get, then.”

Harry reluctantly unwraps himself from around her and pushes up off the sofa. With a yawn and a wave of his wand the fire sputters out and plunges them into darkness. An exasperated sigh reaches his ears a second before a dim _Lumos_ illuminates the black. A small hand urging him forward gives his heavy limbs motivation to move out into the hall and up the stairs to the third floor. When she’d moved in a year after the war the only logical thing to be done was to put her across the hall from him. She had never questioned it and he’d never offered her an excuse. Not that he needed one, not after all they’d been through together.

He follows her into her room.

Hermione makes a beeline for her bathroom and the door remains open a crack. They don’t like closed doors between them. Months of sharing the same space with all but nonexistent privacy had dug trenches into their modesty. They try to pretend that they’re normal around everyone else, but when it’s just them they breathe easier. Harry still isn’t sure how he’s going to survive being married. Ginny might be understanding but he doesn’t suspect that she would ever be okay with the way he and Hermione are when they’re alone. He undoes his fly and shucks his jeans to the floor just as the toilet flushes. Not waiting for an invitation, he moves into the bathroom and ignores Hermione’s pointed glare in the mirror. While she brushes her teeth he pisses and nudges her over to wash his hands, and then brush his own teeth.

They fall into bed.

She curls around him and him around her. It’s practiced, familiar, a common occurrence. One of his hands tangles in her wild curls and she sighs deeply, a sound of contentment. The little pieces of himself that have been jarred out of place with the chaos of the previous weeks knit themselves back together. A curl winds around his ring-finger and it feels more like a promise than the simple band that will sit there in three days time. He holds her just a little tighter. Hermione pulls back despite his protesting limbs and he blinks his vision into focus. He’d forgotten to take his glasses off again, and despite the weak light straining into the room from the window across the room, Harry can see her clearly.

Harry will wonder until his dying day why he kisses her.

Maybe it’s the way the light makes her hair look like a halo around her, giving her an otherworldly air. Maybe it’s how, even in such terrible lighting, he can still count each freckle that decorates the bridge of her nose. They’re there from her cheering him on at Quidditch matches and she swears she doesn’t even have them. Or maybe it’s because when he looks her in the eye all he wants to do is drown in the whiskey rich depths. But for whatever reason, Harry leans forward just enough to share breaths giving her the chance to back away. She doesn’t, though, and he kisses her. It isn’t even their first kiss, but it _feels_ like it.

That night Harry forgets about the pressures of being a groom. He forgets about the many people that this act could hurt. Most importantly, he forgets what it feels like to hurt; to _ache_ when one wants something that they don’t deserve. Harry is selfish and writes prayers onto Hermione’s skin with his hands. He worships her with his mouth, heedlessly leaving behind bruises shaped like his teeth and fingers. He wants her to remember him, _this_. When he buries his head into her hair, panting against her damp neck, the urge to cry is terribly real. He gives himself away, or what’s left anyway. There on her bed, buried to the hilt inside of her warmth with her nails digging into his shoulder blades, Harry realizes that he’s made a catastrophic mistake.

 

*

 

It’s on a bright and cheery Saturday that Hermione watches, with tears streaming down her face, as Harry marries Ginny. She stands beside the bride in a place of honor and smiles a watery smile at the best man. She barely hears the vows over the beating of her heart. When applause sounds, it’s loud and she forces herself not to flinch, keeps her smile fixed perfectly in place from years of practice. Everything is a blur and she’s glad that her tears are mistaken for joy. Luna hugs her tighter than anyone like she _knows_ that the happy couple is dancing atop her pulverized heart. Ron sweeps her across the floor and it almost helps, except for the way he’s looking at her; almost as if to say ‘ _we’re next’_.

When Harry asks for his turn, his fingers settle perfectly into a set of bruises hidden under the material of her dress.

 

* * *

 

ii.

 

Ron breaks her heart on a Tuesday.

A migraine that no Pain-Potion can touch sends Hermione home from the Ministry early. Unable to stare at parchment or the pages of her research books any longer, she reluctantly packs up her things and apparates away. She heads straight to the Burrow in the hopes that Molly will have something that can ease the pain in her head. When she arrives and slips into the kitchen, what greets her draws her up short. Ron sits at the table with his head in his hands while Molly and Ginny stare at him from across the room. When he looks up at her entrance his eyes are red and glassy, there are tear tracks on his cheeks, and Hermione has a sudden flashback to the end of the war.

“’Mione?” he whispers and her stomach clenches painfully.

“Oh, hello, dear!” Molly exclaims and Hermione’s gaze snaps back to the woman who is now wringing her hands. “What brings you here? You look pale, are you alright?”

“What’s going on?”

The hush that falls over the room makes her head pound in rhythm with her racing heart. She looks to Ginny whose face is set in angry lines, a dark contrast to the cheery yellow top that falls over her just-starting-to-show belly. Hermione has a brief moment of longing but pushes it aside. She ticks her gaze between the three Weasleys, unease settling like lead in her stomach.

“Well… Come, Ginevra, let’s let them talk.” A frown creases her brow as Molly forcibly drags Ginny from the kitchen without explanation.

“Ron, what is it? Is—Is Harry alright?”

His laugh is more of a choked sound and Hermione takes a step to move closer to him, but he holds up a hand. Confused, she halts and watches as he shakes his head then uses the sleeve of his jumper to mop up his face. He swallows thickly before looking up again and meeting her eyes.

“Harry’s fine. I have something to tell you though…” Despite his request, Hermione moves to the table and takes a seat across from her boyfriend. She leaves her hands in her lap and waits patiently for him to continue. When he does it’s in a small voice. “Do you remember that match we had a couple months ago? The one up in Russia.” She nods recalling that he’d been gone for a week and a half and had come back just a titch off. Her heart thumps hard. Ron glances up at her for a second before looking back at the scarred table-top. “I—um, the team, we went out after the match for a round or two. There were some girls, and well, we got pretty sloshed… I don’t remember much after that third pint…”

“What did you do, Ronald?” Hermione asks quietly although she’s sure she already knows.

Instead of answering her, he slides a wrinkled piece of parchment over the table towards her. Hermione delicately turns it around to face her and peers down at the unfamiliar script. Her vision blurs for a split-second as pain lances through her temple, and her stomach lurches in protest.

_‘Dear Mister Ronald Weasley,_

_My name is Tabitha Risemoore. Two-in-a-half months ago after a vigorous and drunken shag we parted ways and I had no intention upon ever seeing you again. (That is what one-night-stands are about after all.) Contrary to my wishes, it would appear that fate had another plan. I find myself in a rather complicated ordeal, or I should say that **we** are in a bit of a pickle. You see, I recently had a bout of sickness and upon seeing a healer I learned that it was not just a case of bad chips, but rather that I am pregnant. Normally in these circumst—’ _

Hermione pushes the letter away unwilling to read the rest lest she set something on fire. Abruptly pushing away from the table, she barely notices her chair falling to the floor as she spins around trying to put distance between herself and Ron. Hearing his chair squeak across the floor, she blindly reaches for her wand and turns, stance defensive. He holds his hands out to her either in a plea for her to lower her wand or in an attempt to get her to stay there. Probably both, she isn’t sure due to the ringing in her ears.

“I can explain, ‘Mione, please. Just give me a chance, yeah?”

A strangled sob escapes her lips in a poor imitation of a laugh. “You can explain? You can _explain_? I think you just did that rather well,” she sputters and points at the parchment innocently resting on the table.

“I’m sorry! I—it wasn’t… It wasn’t supposed to be more.”

“You’re having a _child_ with another _woman_! Sorry isn’t going to make it okay, Ronald! You—I… I cannot do this with you right now.”

“Wait! Hermione, please don’t leave. We can work this out, okay? It doesn’t have to change anything!”

“ _This changes everything!”_ Hermione yells, her hair sparking with her emotions as her magic fluctuates wildly.

She ignores the tears that run down his face. She ignores the ones that spill down her own. She ignores the two gingers that stand in the doorway with wet eyes and concerned faces. Hermione ignores Ron’s pleas for her to listen as she runs out the back door, the pain in her chest overshadowing the one in her head. Once past the wards, she turns on the spot with no destination in mind.

 

*

 

Harry finds Hermione six hours later in the basement of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

It had taken one owl from Ginny, her usual, easy hand angry and slashed across a piece of ripped parchment, and a terrified Floo call from Ron to alert Harry of the situation. Anger had ripped through him after reading his wife’s note and without thought he had Flooed straight to the Burrow and promptly given his best mate a black eye. And a split lip. Also, probably, a cracked rib. He’d only stopped on account of Molly screaming and Ginny hitting him with a well aimed _Stupefy_. Ginny had pushed him outside, leaving Molly to clean up the mess that was her youngest son, and then gave him instructions to find Hermione. He’d searched everywhere never even thinking that she would have gone home. After hours of searching everywhere from Hogwarts to her old muggle neighborhood, Harry had gone back to Number 12 to look for any sign of the hurting woman.

She had warded the basement stairs with notice-me-not charms and locked the door by both magical and muggle means, but it’d only taken him ten minutes to break in.

Hermione sits on the unforgiving floor, slouched in front of the wall in the far corner of the room. There are three bottles in different degrees of fullness around her, one in her hand. She doesn’t look up when he comes in. Harry sends a quick patronus to Ginny and Molly to let them know that he found her. He also tells his wife that he’s not coming home. Her reply is instantaneous that she’ll be staying at her parents’ and to give Hermione her love.

Harry moves across the room and drops down to Hermione’s side. He gently tugs the almost empty bottle of vodka from her grasp, setting it aside and wrapping an arm around her slumped shoulders. He loses track of time, uncaring that his behind is going numb, or that the silence is only interrupted by occasional hiccups. It’s a while before Hermione turns to him, her gaze breaking his heart as she stares up at him.

“ _Why,”_ she asks and her voice is small and broken.

Before he has a chance to respond, Hermione curls into his side with a fist clenched in his robes as a sob rips its way from her chest. Harry pulls her onto his lap and encircles his arms around her shaking frame. He lets her cry her heart out and holds her hair back when she heaves forward and vomits. Releasing her only long enough to fish his wand out to vanish the sick, he cradles her to his chest and rises to his feet. He carries her all the way up to her bedroom and into the bathroom. He sits her down on the edge of the tub and grabs a flannel, wetting it under the cold water before kneeling down in front of her. Wiping her face carefully, he whispers reassurances to her until she blinks at him and stills his hand with a nod. Standing, he moves to the doorway and watches as she rises on wobbly legs and takes a potion from her cabinet, swallows it with a wince, then brushes her teeth.

Back in her bedroom, Hermione strips down to just her knickers uncaring of his presence and pulls an old red and gold jersey over her head. He notes that his last name is printed across her back. For one fleeting second, Harry feels guilt because really, he’s no better than Ron. He pushes it aside to hide behind his anger and shrugs out of his work robes and kicks his boots off. They climb into her bed, and like magnets they connect.

They don’t speak. Hermione presses a kiss to his chin, jaw, lips and he’s gone. If it’s how she wants to forget that her heart is breaking, who is he to refuse her? He lets her take his strength and watches from above her as she uses it to mold her anguish into something else. It’s a slow and steady burn that night, and she’s glorious when she comes. While they catch their breath, Harry almost tells her his secret, almost breathes it into her damp skin. But he doesn’t. Instead he wraps her up in the blankets and gathers her close.

She’s asleep when he confesses to the darkness of her room. 

 

 


	2. Round three and four.

 

 

iii.

 

Hermione _should_ feel regret, but she can’t really find it inside of herself to at the moment.

His hands are uncharacteristically rough, his mouth demanding, and his hips almost punishing. She’s going to have bruises. A loud whine escapes her lips and she thanks Merlin for silencing spells. Harry, encouraged by her cries, hitches her up the wall with an unforgiving thrust. His fingers dig into her thighs adjusting his grip and the angle. Hermione’s already ragged breath catches in her throat and her hands fist in his perpetually messy hair. Her walls clench around his length in a delicious, almost painful spasm and she knows she’s so very close. Harry groans a curse into her neck. Their pace is frantic and the pounding of her heart reminds her of when they ran from the snatchers; terrified, life and death to reach the finish line. His teeth clamp down on the flesh of her neck where it meets her shoulder, and Hermione comes so hard she sees stars.

She’s vaguely aware of his warmth emptying into her with a shout, the fireworks playing havoc on her nerve endings and her coherency. Harry doesn’t still, but slows as if he’s reluctant to leave her body just yet. Her breasts heave as the fog of their mutual release settles around them. Harry, gentle now, presses lazy kisses to his freshly made mark making her shiver despite the sweat on her skin. Lashes that she hadn’t realized she’d closed flutter open and she notices that the bathroom is dark. The small window above the shower offers the only light and Hermione looks up at the small fixture above them to see a shattered bulb.

Harry pulls away from her neck, his nose nudging her chin until she fastens her eyes back to his. His smile is brilliant and she tries to convince her hopeless heart that he’s just happy to see her. Raking a hand through his hair, she rights his glasses and rubs a smudge of gloss from his lips. She misses the way something softens in his gaze before his mouth slants over hers once more. This kiss is different from the one ten minutes ago; it’s unhurried and tender. Hermione clings to Harry wishing, not for the first time, that she could have him like this all of the time. But she knows that she can’t. Life is too cruel and reality is a harsh pill to swallow, and said reality is that this is wrong.

With a sigh against his lips, Hermione pulls lightly at his hair as she squirms against him. Harry pecks her lips lightly and lets his fingers loosen so she can slip from his hold. Once back on her feet they help each other clean up and glamour any visible proof of their actions. She repairs the broken light and checks her reflection while Harry attempts to force some kind of order upon his dark locks. Hermione smiles fondly.

“So, ready to go?” Harry turns to face her, his hands now safely inside his trouser pockets.

She nods and steps the two steps to the door, but pauses with her hand on the knob. “Harry?” she says turning back to face him again.

“Yes?”

“I—I’m really sorry I left.”

“It’s alright, ‘Mione,” he offers her and when she looks up to meet his gaze, he smiles.

“I am, honestly.”

Sighing, Harry reaches for her and winds his arms around her waist, his face finding its favorite spot against her neck. He nuzzles her skin, and she feels him take a deep breath before speaking.

“I’m just happy you’re home, Hermione.”

She curses the tears that well up in her eyes and locks her arms around his neck.

She had been stupid to leave in the first place, but heartbreak is an almighty motivator. After Ron made his announcement that day, Hermione had fled the Burrow with easing the ache inside of her, her only mission. And she had done it, too. With alcohol and curses (both verbal and magical) thrown at the basement wall of Number 12, she’d lost it. All of her feelings for Ron, the self hatred and disappointment, leftover grief from the war, and finally her monumental feelings for Harry (the guilt); she’d given voice to all of it. Then her beloved Harry had shown up like the hero that he is and made her forget everything all over again.

The next morning after a hangover potion and a greasy breakfast in bed, thanks to her knight in glasses, she’d had to force him to go home. He hadn’t wanted to leave her, but she’d insisted that she’d be fine after a lie-in. The only way she’d been going to heal was to get moving and having Harry mother-hen her hadn’t been productive. So once he’d gone with a lingering kiss and a promise to see her the next day, Hermione had taken a shower and sorted her head. While she dressed she’d made plans to owl Molly to let her know that she was alright, and to apologize for running out the day before. But her plans had quickly changed when a soft voice called out a ‘ _hello_ ’ up the stairs.

Hermione had met Luna at the bottom of the stairs, surprised to see the blonde:

 

-

 

_“Hello, Hermione.”_

_“Hi, Luna, what brings you here?” Hermione asked with a perplexed smile._

_“Oh, I only wanted to say goodbye.”_

_“You’re going away?”_

_“Yes! Father and I are going on one of our adventures. Don’t worry I won’t bore you with the details.”_

_Hermione laughed and led Luna into the kitchen for a cup of tea while Luna explained. And explain she did. Once Hermione gave her the okay, she went into great detail about the places and magical beasts that they were out to explore. While Luna talked and Hermione drank her tea, she found herself struck with a sense of longing. The far off lands that the whimsical blonde spoke of with such excitement made her quite jealous. She almost wished that she could just pack everything up into her little, beaded bag and run away with the quirky Lovegoods. Anything would be better than sitting around moping over a broken relationship (and heart)._

_“Well, I don’t see why you couldn’t. Sorry about Ron, by the way. But to be honest I never thought he was right for you.”_

_Her gaze snapped up from the table and met the bright blue of her friend’s. She didn’t even bother wondering how in Merlin Luna seemed to be able to read her thoughts. “I’m sorry?”_

_“I think you should come with us. Father won’t mind, he thinks you’re very clever.”_

_“But, Luna… I couldn’t just pack up and leave everyone!”_

_“Why not?”_

_They stared at one another, one in confusion and the other with determination. It was utterly nonsensical! She couldn’t leave her job or her friends—could she? No, definitely not._

_“No, definitely not. I—I have a job, Luna. Ginny’s pregnant, Harry…”_

_“Ginny also has a mother who’s been pregnant many times, and Fleur, too.”_

_“My job! They would sack me if I just disappeared.”_

_“You have vacation days that you never use! Didn’t you just tell us at Ginny’s Hen Night that the head of your department was going to force you to take a paid vacation?”_

_“Well, I suppose you’re right. I did say that… but what about Harry? I can’t just leave him, I mean—”_

_Luna reached across the table and grasped Hermione’s hand in hers, cutting her off and making the brunette meet her eyes._

_“Harry will be perfectly fine, Hermione.”_

_Swallowing thickly as flashes of the night before danced like tendrils of smoke through her memory, Hermione lowered her gaze to their clasped hands. She knew Luna was correct; Harry_ would _be fine. Her job would be there when she returned, and Ginny would be in great hands. She had no other argument and Luna knew it._

-

 

Hermione had packed up everything she’d needed for at least a month (or two, she really didn’t expect to be gone for long), owled Molly, Harry, and her office, then locked up Number 12 before she could change her mind. Without waiting for replies, Hermione’d taken Luna’s hand and disapparated into the unknown. That was seven in-a-half months ago. Needless to say, she’d found the adventure that she craved, the distance from the whole Ron situation. But at what price?

She’d received a Howler from Ron and worried owls from everyone else that first week. Harry’s had been the shortest and she’d felt like she had somehow disappointed him. Most of their letters were polite and meaningless updates about whatever happened to them that week, until they had eventually just stopped. Hermione had cried herself to sleep quite a bit in the first couple months. Then, like everything in life, it eventually got a little easier. Luna had been a huge part of it, as she wouldn’t give Hermione time to simply sit still and brood. They’d grown closer and she’d found that Luna wasn’t entirely loony at all. She had even broken down and confessed to the petite woman about her affair with Harry. Luna’d held her when she cried and promised her that she wasn’t a terrible person. She owed her a tremendous amount.

Harry’s arms slacking from around her draw her back to the present.

“We should be going or the others will come looking,” he says and punctuates it with a kiss to her forehead. Nodding, Hermione takes a deep breath and pulls away from the wizard. This time he’s the first to the door and she follows him wordlessly, with a heavy weight in her stomach.

Downstairs she’s greeted with joy and hugs. This is the first time she’s meeting Harry’s son after all. It’s a happy occasion yet Hermione hides behind a plaster smile. Ginny is radiant as she approaches them. The tiny bundle held so securely in her arms only adds to her beauty. Once Ginny reprimands her for missing his birth, she introduces him to Hermione as if he can already understand her. Before she knows it, Ginny is pushing him gently into her chest and ordering her to support his head. Hermione doesn’t dare tell her that she really doesn’t want to hold the newest Potter. He’s warm in her arms and once his mother steps away Hermione looks down at him to find him blinking up at her. She smiles softly as the baby settles in against her heart and yawns.

Across the room Harry watches Hermione hold his child and feels like the worst kind of person; he wishes James were theirs.

 

* * *

 

iv.

 

Harry almost dies in January.

A mission gone wrong, a cutting hex cast too fast for a shield to be thrown up. It slices so deep that it almost severs an artery. Hermione sits by his bedside at St. Mungos for days. She ignores Molly, Ron, the rest of the Weasleys, and anyone else who comes and goes. She promises Ginny that she’ll watch over him. Luna tells her that she’s wasting away; she’s the only one who can get Hermione to eat, to go home long enough to shower.

Hermione insists that Harry be moved to Grimmauld Place once he’s released. She barters with Ginny and Molly, telling them that he’d feel more comfortable there, and Ginny can worry about James instead of Harry. She’ll take care of him, make sure he heals properly. They can come bring him food whenever they want. They agree in the end.

She takes Harry home on a Thursday.

He’s only there for a week, but it feels like old times again. Harry fusses because she’s fussing over him. Hermione berates him like she used to at Hogwarts. They laugh and stay up late like teenagers. They sleep in the same bed, and while nothing happens right away there is an overwhelming sense of anxiety. During the day it’s easy to forget everything and pretend that nothing has changed. But at night when the lights have gone down and their limbs tangle together tighter than a Celtic knot, pretending becomes rather difficult. Sometimes Hermione wishes that they never had slept together, but mostly she just wishes that she would have realized her feelings for Harry sooner. (Or at least voiced them.)

The Wednesday night before Harry’s to return home to his family begins like all the others. They eat takeaway from their favorite Chinese, muggle restaurant then retire to the library with a warm cup of tea. Hermione settles on the sofa with her feet in Harry’s lap and the silence is comforting. He’s fully healed now, nothing but the tiniest sliver of a scar left as evidence of his brush with death. Hermione sips her tea and stares at the razor-thin line on his neck, her mind wandering. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and his jaw shifts with a crooked smile.

“Hermione, you’re staring.”

“Yes, I am,” she responds automatically.

“Is there a reason?”

“Yes, there is.”

“You’re purposely being annoying, aren’t you?”

“Nagini’s fangs struck Professor Snape’s neck exactly where that hex hit you. Did you know that?”

Harry’s smile falters.

“Had your partner not acted so quickly, you would have bled out and died almost exactly the same as he did.” 

“Hermione.” His voice is quiet, but dangerously so.

“Yes?”

“Are you quite finished?”

Glancing up from his mocking scar to his eyes, Hermione promptly burst into tears. With a sigh, Harry pries her fingers from around her mug and sits it aside. Drawing her legs off of his lap, Hermione curls into a ball in the corner of the couch. Harry scoots over and she sobs harder at the feel of his arms around her. She’d almost lost him, again. Her world wouldn’t be right if there wasn’t a Harry Potter in it. Her life would be meaningless without him, and she surely wouldn’t be who she is now without him. His arms tighten around her, anchoring her to him as he speaks.

“’Mione, Merlin, calm down. I’m alive and have no intention of leaving you. You haven’t lost me, and your life would _not_ be meaningless! You are the most amazing witch I have ever known. I’m sure if I weren’t around, by now you’d be Minister for Magic and ruling all of Wizarding Britain.”

Hermione’s laugh comes out on a choked sob. Harry tugs her onto his lap and gently pushes her head into the crook under his chin. She hadn’t even realized that she’d been speaking her worries aloud, but having him correct her eases the panic threatening her lungs. He holds her until her tears subside. Sitting up, Hermione looks at Harry and he smoothes her tears away with the pads of his thumbs. She smiles sadly at him.

“Hermione, I love you.”

Her smile fades a bit.

“I love you, too, Harry.”

“No, ‘Mione,” he cages her face between his palms, his green eyes begging for her to understand. “ _I love you._ ”

Her heart nearly stops before taking off at a gallop. In a different time, a different world all together, this would have been the moment when Hermione melted into a puddle of content romance. It would have been her dream come true; to hear the person she loves the most happily return those feelings. But this isn’t another time or world.

“Harry…I—”

“Don’t,” he presses a thumb to her lips stalling her reply. “I just need you to know, okay? I am _in_ love with you. Yes, I feel like a right prat, but I can’t let you think that you’re worthless when you mean the world to me. I—I wanted to _Avada_ Ron when he hurt—”

This time Hermione stops Harry. She presses her lips to his, turning his rambling into mumbling. The kiss only lasts for a minute before she pulls back and climbs off of his lap and stands. Taking his hand she leads him from the library and up to her room. He goes without protest. They undress each other with careful hands and slow kisses. Hermione kisses every scar that decorates his skin, whispering words of gratitude into the dark. He returns the gesture and she cries when he pays special attention to the long, jagged slash that’s engraved into her torso thanks to Dolohov.

They make slow love, taking their time to simply be close, listening to each other’s hearts. This isn’t about them getting off, no, it’s about the life that they breathe into each other’s lungs. The moans and whimpers are sweeter, the air heavier than normal. Nothing exists outside of Hermione’s bedroom. She kisses Harry with an air of reverence, placing her prayers onto his tongue with sighs. He draws her onto his lap, thighs straddling thighs, and enters her achingly slow. Her breath ghosts across his jaw as she links her arms around his neck. Chest to chest, hearts thrumming in sync, Harry holds her.

“ _I love you,_ ” she breathes against his parted lips.

Harry’s eyes widen merely a second before his mouth crashes against hers. Their moans of pleasure are lost to the walls of Number 12 while the world spins on. After her whispered confession it isn’t long till they’re both falling off the edge of desire. Once they settle in a sated heap under her cover, Harry tells her that he loves her over and over again. Hermione soaks up his affection, all the while willing thoughts of daylight into a drawer at the back of her mind. They fall asleep with limbs entwined and sharing the same pillow.

The next morning Harry leaves to go back to Ginny and James. There isn’t any fanfare; it’s a simple goodbye with a friendly hug. Hermione makes sure the door is firmly closed and turns to the narrow, empty hall. Her back slides down the door as she collapses in a heap. Tears streak down the hills of her cheeks and she pulls her knees to her chest staring into nothing. She’d known that it would mean little in the morning, but watching Harry leave _hurts_. Her heart feels weak. She hates weakness.

Hermione gets blackout drunk that night.

 

 


	3. Round five and an ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating has been bumped up a notch just to be on the safe side.   
> Also, if you're the crying type, I'd suggest tissues.

 

 

v.

 

Harry gets his heart broken on a Friday night.

“Where are you headed?”

“‘Mione owled me earlier and asked if I’d pop in,” Harry shrugs his coat on and bends down to kiss the top of his toddler’s head.

“She okay?”

“Yeah, probably just heard about Ron’s engagement…”

Ginny glares at him, her hands on her hips in a frightful imitation of her mother. “You haven’t told her yet?”

“I’ve been busy! We had a new batch of trainees in last week and I just…”

“Harry Potter, you are a horrible wizard and friend.”

“I’m so glad I married you.”

“Oh, piss off!” Ginny laughs, snatching James up before he can climb up onto the bench in their entryway. “Give her my love, yeah? And tell her I’ll get mum to watch this monster next week and I’ll take her out to get her sloshed like a _proper_ friend.”

Harry kisses his grinning wife and slips out the door, James’ rambling following him out into the night. He walks down to the end of their drive past his wards and turns on the spot. When he gets to Grimmauld Place, Harry’s greeted by music and follows it to the kitchen. Pausing in the doorway he watches Hermione’s hips sway to the beat of whatever muggle song’s coming from the wireless on the counter. Her hair is loose and seemingly has a mind of its own, writhing with the motion of her body. Her wand lies forgotten next to the radio as her hands scrub at a dish. She’s wearing a stretched out jumper that dips down at the collar revealing a pale shoulder and a pair of ratty, muggle shorts that have paint stains on the hip. He has never found her more beautiful than at this precise moment. Moving with practiced stealth, Harry skirts around the table and steps up behind the witch. He doesn’t touch her, standing just close enough to feel the heat of her frame along his front. She stills all movement as he places his hands on either side of her hips, fingers curling over the edge of the sink and effectively caging her in. Dipping his head down he places a feather light kiss atop her bare shoulder. She sighs.

“Hello, Harry.”

At the sound of her soft voice, his name rolling so delicately from her tongue, all thoughts of his everyday life completely evaporate.

“Hello, Love.”

Shifting her weight from foot to foot and brushing against him, Hermione glances over her shoulder at him. “Do you mind?” she asks with a lift of a brow, hands gently splashing in the water.

“Not at all,” Harry replies and wraps his arms around her, pulling her fully against him. Hermione laughs and gives him a playful jab with her elbow. He nips at her shoulder in retaliation.

“Harry! I want to get these finished. Make yourself useful and put on some tea. I’ll be done shortly.”

“No, I don’t think I can do that,” Harry says and presses a kiss into her neck.

“What has gotten into — _Merlin_!” Hermione yelps when his hand slips under the hem of her jumper, tugging it up as his warm palm covers her bare breast.

“I’ve missed you is all, ‘Mione,” he whispers into her ear, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth upon feeling her heart hammering under his palm.

“You only just saw me two days ago at the Ministry!” she squeaks when his fingers roll her quickly pebbling nipple.

“You know what I mean,” he breathes against the curve of her shoulder, his voice dropping to husky purr.

“Yes, I… _Oh_ ,” Hermione sighs as the fingers of his free hand travels down from her hip to the valley between her thighs. She’s oh so warm as he cups her and Harry can’t stop the smug grin from appearing on his face.

“I bet you missed me, too,” Harry says, his fingers pressing into her cloth covered center. “And I bet that you’re wet, too… Are you wet for me, Hermione?”

“Please,” Hermione whimpers, her backside arching into his rapidly growing desire.

Dishes completely forgotten, Harry proceeds to bend Hermione over right there, yanking her shorts (and admittedly soaked knickers) down. He kneels down behind her and readies her with his mouth and fingers. It’s only when she’s begging him to that he gets up, Hermione tearing at his fly with damp hands, her hungry mouth finding his own. He lifts her up and turns, sitting her onto the table finding it the perfect height, her shorts still dangling from an ankle as he pushes into her. It’s frantic and so fucking good that it takes little time for Hermione to reach another climax with Harry following right on her heels.

He pants into her collarbone, her chest heaving under his cheek as the music plays on behind them. When he straightens and meets her eyes, Hermione laughs, looping an arm around his neck. He joins in her levity placing sloppy kisses to her smiling lips. Everything is right with his world in that moment.

Until it isn’t.

The distant banging on the door and Ron’s muffled “‘Mione?” causes Harry’s heart to very nearly stop. Harry stares into Hermione’s utterly shocked eyes watching them switch from shock to panic in a millisecond. He’s helpless to do anything as her shaking hands shove him away. She orders him to apparate to the bathroom in a terrified whisper as she jerks her clothes into place, nearly bowling him over when she pushes past him to grab her wand. He doesn’t feel her magic as it settles over him with a cleaning charm and it’s only when she grabs his shoulders and shakes him does he wake up from his stupor. Nodding, he turns and does as he’s told.

Once he’s in Hermione’s bathroom, Harry takes a moment just to breathe. A few more minutes and they would have been caught; by Ron no less. _Oh, fuck_ , a voice in his mind whispers sounding suspiciously like his godfather. Ron would have murdered him on the spot, and if he hadn’t finished the job, there were four other Weasley brothers (five Weasley _men_ if he counted Arthur) that would do it. Not to mention Molly, or fucking _Ginny_ herself; there would be nothing left of Harry when that family got done with him. His stomach rolls with sudden nausea. Taking his glasses off and sticking his head under the cold tap, Harry gasps. This situation that he’s voluntarily gotten himself into is not looking so great right about now.

Heartbeat normal again and his person righted once more, Harry leaves the bathroom and steps into Hermione’s bedroom. His steps falter at the sight that meets him. Hermione’s room is all but bare. Her bookshelf has huge empty places where her most loved books once sat. The corkboard that she’d charmed onto the wall by the door is empty where it used to be littered with pictures and random bits of parchment. But it’s the trunk at the foot of her bed that’s thrown open that gives him pause. He steps closer and peers down into it noting the neat stacks of clothes, books, and everything that makes his best friend _Hermione_ nestled snugly inside. His heart drops into his stomach.

“Harry! Are you alright?”

At the sound of Hermione’s voice, Harry stores his questions away for later along with his rising anger. Without answering he leaves her bedroom, closing the door with a snick of finality behind him. In the kitchen there isn’t any evidence of their tryst to be found. Instead, Hermione is put together, her clothes clearly transfigured, slightly, to be more presentable for company, and tea on the clean table. Fury churns in his gut but he gives his brother-in-law a smile and settles down into a seat across from the ginger.

“You okay, mate?”

“Apparition,” Harry shrugs with a grimace and picks up his mug.

Ron easily accepts his excuse and Harry listens to his two best friends’ idle, albeit awkward, conversation. Ron’s there to tell Hermione that he’s getting married. Tabitha, as it turns out, is actually a decent person and quite perfect for Ron. They’ve dated since she came back to London and they decided to get married before their little girl is born. Harry watches Hermione as she congratulates her ex. He raises a shoulder when she glares at him. He wonders; if that wasn’t what she wanted him to rush over for, then just what had she been going to tell him? It isn’t long before he finds out.

“Actually,” Hermione says with a smack of her lips as she sits her cup down. “I’m glad you’re both here. There’s something I wanted to tell you.”

Ron sits up straighter and leans forward, eyes focused on her while Harry watches her from his relaxed position, an air of nonchalance warring with the rolling emotions darkening his eyes.

“I’m going away with Luna and Mr. Lovegood again.”

“What? Again, really?” Ron questions, a frown marring his brow.

“Yes,” Hermione avoids meeting Harry’s eyes. “Luna Flooed me last week and invited me to go with them.”

“When are you leaving?” Harry asks quietly.

“Tomorrow,” she states finally looking up from the table and into his eyes.

“Is that why you owled me today?”

“Yes, Harry.”

“Bloody Loony Lovegood, though! Come on, ‘Mione, why would ya wanna go away with them again?”

“Ronald,” Hermione says sternly, her gaze darting back to him. “ _Luna_ happens to be a very important person to me and I enjoyed my travels with them last time. I learned all sorts of things! And Mr. Lovegood is actually a fascinating person. Now, I’m sorry that I won’t make your wedding, but hopefully you can forgive me.”

“Of course, ‘Mione,” Ron assures her, nodding somewhat dejectedly.

“When are you coming back?”

Hermione glances back to Harry and he raises a brow. He watches her swallow and shrug before answering his question. “I’m not entirely sure… They tend not to stick to any kind of schedule.”

“Well, maybe it won’t be as long as last time, yeah? We missed you, ‘Mione.”

“I know, Ron.”

Harry pushes away from the table and crosses to dig through the cabinet under the guise of finding some biscuits. Ron, in what has to be a freak miracle, declines the treats and takes his leave. He promises to drop by Harry and Ginny’s the next day, then Hermione follows him to the door leaving Harry alone. She comes back, padding into the room on her bare feet and sniffling only a couple minutes later. She stops a few feet away from him, leaning a hip against the table. The same spot where he just fucked her. The lid on his anger rattles dangerously.

“Not hungry, then?” She questions with a gesture to the unopened pack of biscuits still in his hand.

Harry snaps.

Hermione jumps when the biscuits explode upon hitting the floor with the force of Harry’s rage. “No, I’m not _fucking hungry!_ ” he yells. The air of the kitchen thickens with magic as he inhales deeply through his nostrils. “Your things are packed and you were just going to leave again? Does this mean nothing to you? Do _I_ mean nothing to you, Hermione? Honestly, I thought out of everyone, you’d know that I don’t deal well with abandonment!”

“I’m not _abandoning_ you, Harry!”

“ _Yes, you fucking are_!”

Hermione lurches forward and captures his face between her palms and Harry goes utterly still. He would rather Voldemort murder him all over again than hurt her. He stares at her, hurt and anger twisting corrupt hands around his heart.

“Harry, I would _never_ abandon you. You know that! I—I need to do this for _me_.” She strokes his face while tears stream down her own. “I knew about Ron and Tabitha a week ago, you know Molly can’t keep a secret when she’s excited. So when Luna asked me to go with her, I agreed before I’d even known it!”

Harry doesn’t move but he looks away from her watery eyes.

“I wanted to tell you tonight, then you surprised me and I—I’m so sorry, Harry.” Hermione drops her hands and takes a step away from him, the distance cutting into the quick of his heart. His eyes shift back to her, her head now hung and shoulders slumped. “After tonight—and Ron almost… Harry, I don’t think I can do this any more.”

Her voice is merely a whisper, but to him it’s like she’s shouting into his ear.

“You don’t mean that.”

She nods and Harry swallows the lump of protest in his throat. Feeling like he’s about to shatter, he steps into her space and gently tilts her chin up so he can see her eyes. She cries openly.

“I just can’t, Harry. Ginny doesn’t deserve this, and I—we can’t do this again. I love you so much, _but_ …” she trails off letting the unsaid words collect between them.

“ _Please_ ,” he whispers.

Hermione shakes her head and collapses against his chest, her arms banding around him. Harry holds her tightly as she sobs and he finds his own vision blurring, tears spilling into her hair. He’s done pretending that he isn’t a mess, that his heart isn’t shattering. He cries because he knows that she’s right. He cries because of what he’s done to his wife and his innocent son. He cries because he never had the courage to tell Hermione what she meant to him when it counted the most. Harry cries because this is another chapter of his life that’s about to close.

 

*

 

After only two hours of restless sleep, Hermione finds herself standing on the doorstep of Number 12, Grimmauld Place the next morning, staring at the bland door. Her trunk is packed, her office has been notified, and her best friends know. Her raw heart throbs and she ignores it. There is nothing else left for her to do. This is it.

“Are you ready, Hermione?” Luna asks softly.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione steps down onto the sidewalk and takes the blonde’s offered hand. With a wave of her wand the building creaks and groans, the unassuming muggles going about their morning on either side, as the structure shrinks. When number twelve is no longer visible, Hermione nods as she dashes away a single tear with her wand-hand. Luna’s fingers give hers a squeeze and with a quiet _pop_ the witches are gone.

 

* * *

 

_Three years, two months, half a week, and six hours later…_

 

“Hermione! Look at you! Oh my, Gods, you look fantastic!”

“Thank you! So do you, Ginny. You’re glowing again.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t _feel_ beautiful. My tits are so heavy and my body aches. Little bugger was a bit difficult to carry compared to James.” 

“But you’re both okay?” Hermione asks as the redhead predictably pushes the tiny, blue bundle into her arms.

“Oh, yeah, we’re both perfectly healthy. The Medi-Witch says that he’s a bit small ‘cause he came early, but he’ll grow up big and strong.”

Hermione nods and smiles down at the new baby Potter staring up at her. She barely notices the lightning-fast pain that pinches her heart. His mouth turns down in a frown after a few moments and he gears up to cry.

“Uh-oh, here, you better take him.”

Hermione looks up at where Ginny is supposed to be when there’s no reply and goes stock still. Brilliantly green eyes meet hers. She’d been so distracted by the tiny person and his mother’s rambling that she’d failed to notice when it had stopped. Her heart skips but little Albus interrupts her approaching, internal freak-out with a wail. She swallows thickly as Harry strides towards them.

“Hello, Hermione,” he says once he’s standing in front of her.

“Hello, Harry.”

“I see you made it back in time.”

“Oh, um, yes,” she says lamely and attempts to gently bounce his wailing son.

“Here, let me take him.”

“Of course! Ginny was here but she seems to have disappeared.”

“Molly, I think,” he says in explanation as she carefully places Albus into the cradle of his arms.

“Ah, that explains it,” Hermione watches as Harry expertly maneuvers the baby onto his shoulder, rubbing his back in a circular motion. Albus instantly quiets. She feels stupid. Ginny saves her from further awkward small talk, though.

“Sorry, ‘Mione! Mum’s being a nutter about her kitchen today. You know how she is. Is he hungry, Harry?”

“Gas.”

“Oi, poor thing,” Ginny sighs and presses a kiss to her son’s brow. “Oh, Hermione, mum said Luna and a gaggle of wizards just arrived out front!”

At this news, a smile breaks out across Hermione’s face like the sun breaking free of the clouds. Ginny raises an eyebrow and glances at her husband who’s frowning. Hermione ignores both of them, a rush of excitement zinging through her veins. Spinning on her heels just as a group of three wizards and a tiny, yellow haired witch round the house, she practically beams. She ignores the hush that’s fallen over the back yard of the Burrow and takes off toward the newcomers.

“‘Mione!” Luna calls in her singsong voice at the same time as a very male voice rings out a “ _Mila!_ ”

Hermione collides into the two figures at the front of the group with happy laughter. First, she hugs Luna as tightly as she can, her eyes misting over at the sweet smell of her best friend’s perfume. It’s only been six months since she last saw the petite witch, but it feels like a lifetime after being inseparable for nearly three years, (more if you counted the first seven months they travelled together).

“Merlin, you’d suspect _they_ are the ones in love,” comments the wizard standing next to Luna’s father in a stage whisper. His accent is as rich as his closely cropped, dark hair and his crimson robes. Mr. Lovegood rolls his eyes simultaneously with Hermione as she pulls away.

“Dezi, I will not hesitate to hex you, you know.”

The wizard shudders in memory, terror, or sarcastic mockery. It’s anyone’s guess which.

“My mistake, _dear_.”

“We are the ones in love, Dezi. Did we forget to tell you? Whoops.”

Luna smiles up at the tall wizard with a mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes. He raises a hand to his heart and rubs his chest as though it aches making them all laugh. Luna steps over and he tucks her neatly into his side. Hermione turns to Xenophilius Lovegood and to the shock of those in the yard eavesdropping, throws her arms around his neck. With a chuckle, he wraps his arms around her and hugs her until her feet lift off the ground.

“It’s good to see you, child,” he says before lowering her back to the earth. Hermione smiles at him, nothing but love for the man in her heart. He’d been more than a bit of a father figure to her in the last three years and she’s sure without him and Luna, she’d have withered away long ago.

“Do I not get a hug like them?”

Hermione huffs a laugh at that and turns to the tall, dark, and handsome wizard next to Luna’s father. “No, you annoy me.”

“Yes, but you love me anyway.”

“Love is a very strong word…”

He honest to Merlin pouts at her and Hermione can’t help but laugh aloud. Dezi (a nickname he absolutely can’t stand), is a Bulgarian wizard that, she’ll swear till the day she dies, they picked up on the side of the road out of pity. She will also deny it if asked, but she loves him fiercely. He also reminds her quite a lot of Neville. Leaning up, she pecks him on the jaw and feels him grin. He chucks her gently under her chin and winks at her.

A throat clearing behind her draws her attention to the final wizard of the bunch.

Turning back around, Hermione simply looks over the quiet wizard from toe to crown. He’s grown taller since she first met him and packed on a few pounds that are nothing but muscle. His hair is longer now, the jet black locks pulled into a haphazard shape, or what the muggles would call a ‘man-bun’. Normally long hair on a man wouldn’t attract her, (although Bill Weasley’s had always been attractive) but this suits him. Also, the beard, she never thought of herself liking such a thing, but he pulls it off. His eyes sparkle as he holds his arms out.

More than just her feet leave the earth when Viktor catches her in his arms. He whispers against her lips in his native tongue before kissing her and drowning everything around them out. She doesn’t hear the conversation going on around her as her world narrows down to the steady arms surrounding her and the soft, yet firm lips beneath hers. The only thing that drags her back down is the ear-splitting squeal to her right and the sudden yank on her left wrist. Hermione comes up for air, eyes wide as she takes in her surroundings, face flushing as red as Dezi’s favorite robes. Viktor eases her back down to the ground but keeps his arms around her.

“You little bitch!”

“GINEVRA!” Molly scolds her daughter from Hermione’s other side.

Hermione twists in Viktor’s hold to better see what the big deal is. Ginny, Harry, Ron, Tabitha, and nearly every other person present are gathered around them. They all look expectant and Hermione backs up closer to her wizard feeling a little threatened.

“I’m sorry, mum! But, ‘Mione, you failed to mention _that_ ,” she points at where Hermione’s left hand is clutching Viktor’s forearm around her middle. For one heart stopping second Hermione thinks that Ginny somehow knows about what she hasn’t even told Luna yet. But, thankfully, Ginny snatches at Hermione’s left hand and shoves it into her face. _Oh_ , she breathes in relief as the sun glints off of the chocolate diamond of her engagement ring turning it to whiskey. Oblivious to her rapid fire emotions, Ginny shakes her hand and everyone watches it flop like a dead fish.

“Oh, that,” Hermione sighs. “Um, surprise?”

“ _Surprise_? That’s all you’ve got to say?” Ginny asks with a grin.

Hermione pushes a shoulder up to her ear in a shrug with a sheepish smile.

Chaos erupts around her, everyone talking over each other. Some congratulate her and Viktor on their engagement and others demand to know when and how it happened. Hands gesture wildly as the volume increases around them, but Hermione pays them no mind. Green eyes meet hers through the crowd and for a moment she fears that she’ll find bitter resentment or hurt inside of them. But Harry just gives her a small smile that she has missed terribly over the years. He looks over her head and nods as a burly arm tightens around her waist protectively. Hermione drops her head, her eyes shining with tears of relief as she realizes that while it had taken a very long time, they had both managed to heal.

“Don’t worry,” a sweet voice whispers into her ear. “He’ll be strong just like his mother.”

Hermione laughs and straightens, leaning back into her fiancé as he attempts to answer a flood of curious questions in his much improved English. She might not be the girl that she once was, or the woman that she _thought_ she’d be, but she supposes she turned out alright. They all did. Viktor and Dezi laugh at something Ron says and Hermione watches Tabitha wrestle with a tiny ginger girl on her hip. A few yards away, Harry chases after James while Ginny yells at them, all the while Albus held to her chest. As Viktor’s laugh warms her heart, Luna presses a kiss against her wet cheek and Hermione grins.

 

_fin._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, monsters! How I've missed you so very much. Just a quick note to thank you if you've read this. Life has been a bitch but with the new year I fully intend to get back to the grindstone! That being said, if you're here wondering what the hell is going on with my other stories, I can safely assure you that they WILL be finished! Thank you for being patient with me.   
> On another note, did you like this? It was my first attempt in the HP fandom and I fully intend to revisit not only this story, but the wizarding world in the future. I hope you stick around with me. Also, the title of this is taken from Bat For Lashes' 'Siren Song'. It's adulterous Harmony's theme to me. Hah. Anywho, thank you all again!


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